Genetic Toxicity

A lot of people tell me I’m talented.

But I can tell you that one of the things I’m good at

is giving tension headaches and regrets

to people who idolised you just a few hours earlier.

The other thing I’m quite talented in is

creating a tornado out of a light breeze.

I let my voice raise and whip around the feelings

of people who’s pupils always dilate

when they look at me.

And I let myself be enveloped by the rage.

Red colouring the white in my eyes,

but the moment their colour matches mine

I recede.

I shrivel into a pile of tears and apologies.

I am coloured a dark blue that suffocates me.

and I let my voice die down,

I quiet down.

I tell myself I am nothing but a shadow of my mother.

That she shines through the cracks in my teeth,

and the moment I realise it, I stitch my lips closed.

Who am I?